


Escapade

by CapriciousVanity



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3337049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousVanity/pseuds/CapriciousVanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tibalt's threatening noises come to a pause when he is captured by Sorin's vampires. However, they cannot detain him for long and Sorin must deal with the problem-creature himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escapade

In response to hearing the half-devil had been captured, Sorin hurried to the subbasement where the fiend was being detained. The tyrant was becoming more trouble than he was worth, worse than the vampires he could not control. Death not for survival, but for vanity and pleasure? It was the decadence he sought to curb in the first place. Upon reaching the cell, he found it unlocked and empty, save for the bloodied bodies of his vampire brethren. The very moment he unsheathed his sword he was kicked at his back and knocked forward into the cell. Tibalt wore a toothy grin as he held his small stiletto knife out away from his being and shut the gate. Sorin swung at him, but the quick fiend dodged him and swept at his feet. The cell was much too small for Sorin’s greatsword; it hit the wall as he fell back, sparking.

Before Sorin could regain his composure, the devil had pinned his legs, the point of his knife a hair’s width from Sorin’s gold eye. The damned thing must have enchanted himself. Sorin would surely lose an eye if he attempted to take up any of his smaller knives or daggers, but what’s an eye for one’s own life? His hand reached the hilt of a hidden dagger and moved to kick the devil as he swung at him again. Tibalt instead took the impact of the vampire’s boot, but not without clutching at his breastplate and ripping it away. The back base of Sorin’s armor fell, clanging on the floor as he stood. Tibalt had already recovered, waiting for Sorin to rise. He tossed the stiletto knife between his hands before he beckoned Sorin with it.

“You’re been making more threatening noises. What has you so moody?”

 “Subjects,” Tibalt replied shortly.

“Hardly an answer.”

Tibalt changed an octave. “Experiments!”

“What _sort_ of experiments, varlot?” Sorin was not one to lose his temper, but he was feeling particularly fickle.

Tibalt only grinned and shrugged, taking a single, swaggered step towards the vampire before lunging at him. Sorin had no trouble fending him off with his daggers, but he needed to leave the cell and to find open space into the hall; Tibalt had advantage here in tight spaces. 

Tibalt was quick on his feet, snapping his knife at the vampire, but he was still reckless. Sorin saw through his pattern and wondered for a moment if Tibalt knew how to fight or if he just happened to be good at improvising. Snorting to himself, Sorin took no time to bring his dagger down in an attempt to cut him. Instead, the fiend dropped his knife to grasp the blade. Blood ran down the edge and dripped, and with another knife, Tibalt pulled Sorin closer by the blade to cut at him. Sorin fell back but tripped Tibalt; the knife cut away at Sorin’s shirt and did away with a few buttons. The vampire flashed a face of annoyance.

“Is your plan to disrobe me or kill me?”

Tibalt hummed “Why not both?”

He spun and kicked the other dagger from Sorin, the one he held also fell as he crept atop the vampire once more, astride his waist.

“Pray tell,”

“What?”

“Your experiments.” 

The devil had wrapped his hand around Sorin’s throat. The contact of their hot-cold made their skin hiss. “I wish to bring back the dead.”

“If you wish to use my kind as your filthy test subjects, you’ve done a _wonderful_ job bringing them back.”

“No, no. I wish to _cure_ them. They are dead and unloving. I wish to bring them _life_ again.”

“Am I also _dead_ and _unloving_?”

“Hmm… Dead, perhaps. Unloving? We’ll see!”

Sorin glowered. The devil’s eyes were bright. He became surrounded by an aura of orange-yellow, transparent fire. His muscles tightened and he lifted his arms; it appeared as if he were lifting a tremendous weight above him. The felled bodies emitted the same fire-glow and soon life filled them once more, hellish screams at first echoing throughout the cells and soon quieted. Each vampire rose, slow and fatigued. They were no longer pale or monstrous; absent fangs and rounded ears, but their eyes were dark. Sorin stared, awestruck. Tibalt turned to them, gesturing his chin to the door to tell them to leave.

They gathered themselves and fled, leaving Tibalt and the lord in their predicament. The distraction was enough for Sorin to gather himself, take his dagger, and hold it to Tibalt’s stomach. Tibalt reflexed quicker. He held his knife to the vampire’s throat.

“ _Don’t_ move.”

Tibalt only chuckled.

“What sorcery was that, Tibalt?”

“So you finally use my name, blood-lord.”

“Answer me, _Tibalt_.”

“Fine, then.”

Tibalt slid his coat from his being and worked at his vest, cutting through it with his knife.

“ _Tibalt_.”

“You wanted to know? Then look, _my lord._ ”

The vest soon came off after Sorin moved his blade, but not too far, and Tibalt revealed under his shirt a part of a sigil scarred in his red skin, beveled and lighter than the rest of him.

“The very markings given to me at my… hm, _metamorphosis._ ” He nodded, as if to reassure his self. “I’m human no longer, and my magic much stronger.”

Sorin, clutching his dagger, moved it back to Tibalt’s stomach as a simple precaution.

“Would you like to see the rest?”

Sorin scoffed.

Tibalt slit his throat in one fell swoop and gripped the vampire’s dagger by the edge, cutting his hand deeper than before and taking it from him. Sorin’s immortality defied him, though Tibalt knew that he wouldn’t die so easily. The vampire choked, but Tibalt pressed his bleeding hand to Sorin’s open wound. The vampire snapped at the devil, his eyes dilated when their blood mixed and skin hissed. Tibalt traced his palm at Sorin’s jaw, then to his mouth. The vampire’s fangs extended as he bit the devil as hard as he could. Tibalt flinched.

“So _cold_ ,” he mocked, but Sorin was indefinitely cold as ice. Sorin’s hands tightly gripped Tibalt’s forearm, holding it in place.

“So you would take the blackened blood of a _varlot_ , Sorin?” His mocking was ignored as Sorin found a strange taste that stung his mouth. It was… inviting, to say the least. Tibalt leaned down but his throat was caught by Sorin’s free hand. One on his arm and one at his throat, now. The devil flashed a grin, tugging at his shirt collar, and faintly whispered.

_“You could have more than that, my friend.”_

The blouse was barely past his shoulders when Sorin invited Tibalt further atop him, pulling him down and sinking his fangs into the fiend’s neck. Tibalt shed his shirt and clawed at Sorin’s coat, as recklessley as he had been throughout their encounter. The vampire took his chance and pushed Tibalt away from his person, rejuvenated and strong with devil’s blood. He punched Tibalt, snapping his jaw out of place. The half-devil took a moment to pop it back, grimacing and baring his teeth. He grabbed the vampire’s silver-white hair and smashed their mouths together. On impact, one of Tibalt’s fangs was knocked loose, but he tightly cradled Sorin’s head, claws against his scalp. Ripping away from him, Sorin lapped blood from his lip and Tibalt yanked his loose fang from his mouth. The sound of his root ripping was almost sickening.

“It will grow back,” he muttered to himself as his tongue played with the empty gap, feeling the tip of an already-forming canine. Tibalt’s had given up on Sorin’s leathers as he ran claws through his white hair. Tibalt grabbed Sorin’s face, their mouths together again. Sorin growled and swung at Tibalt. Tibalt grasped the vampire’s wrist. He pulled from their kiss and tugged at Sorin’s glove with his teeth, sliding the glove off completely.

“Comfortless,” Sorin insulted.

“Like frozen water to a starved snake,” Tibalt added.

“You’re a starved snake, now?”

“No, but I could show you what is.”

Sorin scoffed at his tactlessness as the devil’s tongue rolled across his fingertips. Tibalt grabbed a fistful of Sorin’s hair and yanked his head back. He was rewarded with a surprised yelp and growl. Tibalt pulled Sorin’s coat and what was left of his shredded, silk shirt from his body. His nails raked down the vampire lord’s chest and stomach and reached in the hem of Sorin’s empire-waist trousers.  He thumbed a buttons idly.

“Enjoying yourself?” Sorin deadpanned, but Tibalt nodded in response.

The vampire jumped at him, claws digging into red shoulders as he attempted to bite him. Paying little mind to the strands of hair left in Tibalt’s grasp. Tibalt allowed himself to be pinned down and guided Sorin to his throat. Sorin realigned his bite, clenching his jaw with fangs enveloping Tibalt’s adam’s apple. Tibalt massaged Sorin’s scalp, his mouth agape with a breathy moan he didn’t bother to stifle. His hands trailed down the arch of Sorin’s back and spine. His fingers slipped into the hem of Sorin’s trousers and tugged at them, unbuttoned them, and slid them down past the vampire’s firm ass. Sorin’s claws traced Tibalt’s jaw line and gripped the devil’s horns, pushing them, forcing Tibalt to tilt his head back. Tibalt groped Sorin’s arse and brought him closer, gyrating his hips against Sorin’s inner thighs. The vampire growled against his throat. Tibalt took from one of many pockets a small container of colored oil, dabbing his fingers and inviting his hand through Sorin’s own trousers. He stroked Sorin’s cock, minding his claws, making the vampire slick. Sorin hummed.

“Hmm, so now are _you_ enjoying yourself?”

Lifting himself from Tibalt’s bloodied throat, he didn’t answer.

Tibalt led the vampire’s cold hands down his thighs, clawing at his trousers and ripping them away, leaving his boots. Sorin’s nails dug deeper, cutting into Tibalt’s red skin and drawing blood from him. Tibalt sat up to straddle the cold-skinned vampire and wrapped his arms around his neck, cradling his head. In a graveled voice, he muttered, “ _Fuck me_.”

“You’re vulgar.”

Tibalt scoffed but didn’t object.

Sorin pulled Tibalt against him, and Tibalt responded by flicking his tongue at the vampire’s ear. He unbuttoned his high-waisted pants and dragged his fingers up his own cock, feeling just how slick Tibalt’s oil had made him.

“Sit back,” Tibalt ordered.

“I am not putting my back against the dirty floor.”

“Then get your coat, you pretentious prick.”

Sorin made a face but slipped his long, leather coat over himself, laying back

Tibalt wrapped his legs around Sorin’s bare abdomen, his cock against the other’s cold chest. He leaned forward, bent over Sorin. The vampire bit into the crook of Tibalt’s neck, one hand around the devil’s thigh and the other gently stroking Tibalt between his cheeks. Tibalt covered his mouth over the vampire’s blood-stained lips. Sorin’s middle finger pushed through Tibalt, and the fiend’s clawed into Sorin’s shoulders. Sorin added his ring finger, pushing in and out of Tibalt in a shallow, patient motion, thumb stroking red skin. Tibalt bucked his hips against Sorin’s abdomen, letting a purr-like growl slip from his throat. For only a moment or two he was reduced to quiet panting, shivering from both the slow ministrations and the vampire’s cold-as-death hands.

“Tibalt,” Sorin muttered. The devil didn’t hear him.

“ _Tibalt_ ,” he repeated. Tibalt answered with a tongue at Sorin’s ear again.

“Where is your oil?”

Tibalt groaned in complaint but reached over where a shred of his pants were. Feeling around, he found the small container. He handed it to Sorin and the vampire poured more onto his hand and fingers to ease them deeper in Tibalt’s tight ass. Sorin guided his cock to replace his fingers. Tibalt began to take him in, but Sorin squeezed his thigh.

“Have patience,” he murmured. Tibalt growled in his ear.

Slowly, his girth was being taken in, the varlot’s arms clutching him tightly. Tibalt slid his red hands down Sorin’s arms, settling himself into the vampire’s lap. He took a moment to adjust to the prodding. Sorin’s hands caressed Tibalt’s thighs and gently kneaded his ass. Tibalt lifted himself and brought himself back down on Sorin’s thick cock; the vampire met him as he bucked. Once, twice, and thrice more they found their rhythm, Sorin bucking up into Tibalt each time he bounced down onto him. The inside of Tibalt made him shiver into each thrust; Sorin was wet with perspiration from the devil’s heat enveloping and taking him.

Tibalt was mewling quiet noises in Sorin’s ear with his arms were wrapped around him, riding his thick cock. Tibalt muttered quiet curses to himself, slapping skin echoed in their cell. Sorin was relieved they had sent away what prisoners they had earlier in the day. He moaned under his breath and Tibalt broke their silence.

“Hah… Fucking your rival; you’re betrayer yet again.”

Tibalt chuckled faintly, breathless. Sorin thrust his thick cock harder into Tibalt and dug his claws into red skin, finally making the tyrant moan aloud. Huffing, Tibalt continued.

“You can’t torture – _ah_ – , a master torturer... Sorin.”

Frantic thrusting and a menagerie of growls –  Tibalt latched his claws to Sorin’s biceps, ripping away his cot sleeved and gripping his skin, halting their escapade.

“No, just a moment.”

Sweat dripped down his chest, glistening his chest as he breathed.

“Is the devil too hot and bothered?” Sorin mocked. Tibalt slid himself from Sorin’s cock and pushed the vampire’s chest.

 “What are you doing?”

Tibalt did not answer. He slipped Sorin’s trousers as far down as he could, which was about knee’s length due to his boots. He yanked Sorin’s legs over his shoulders, his trousers behind his neck. He placed an open-mouthed kiss to Sorin’s scrotum, suckling gently before dragging his tongue up the underside of Sorin’s cock. Sorin hissed under him and squeezed his legs. Tibalt sucked little spots along his cock and nipped at his dorsal vein. Sorin squeezed his legs around Tibalt’s neck.

“ _Don’t_ do that,” he warned in a gruff voice. It was enough to make the devil shiver. Tibalt smiled then worked his tongue under Sorin’s sac, prodding his ass.

Sorin, half in the air, pulled Tibalt closer with his legs, mouth agape as he tried to keep his taut voice quiet. Tibalt squeezed the vampire’s cock, pumping it slowly as his lips swallowed the head. He sucked as he pulled away before taking Sorin deeper into his mouth. The vampire bowed his back. Tibalt sucked harder, slowly making his way up to the head of Sorin’s prick before coming down again. His tongue flattened against Sorin’s raphe as he hollowed his cheeks. He hummed a faint chuckle; he swore Sorin whimpered.

With Sorin having no problem holding himself up, Tibalt’s hands wandered down the vampire’s thighs, ghosting across his shapely v-line and belly. Sorin writhed under Tibalt’s mouth and tongue, claws digging into his coat on the ground. His own hands ran down his chest and stomach, massaging the base of his cock. Tibalt sucked hard, his hands taking hold of Sorin’s wrists, making the vampire rub himself with every suck. Sorin pumped himself with one hand and fondled his sac with the other, arching into Tibalt’s hot mouth.

Tibalt looked from what he was doing to see Sorin’s needy expression. He would smirk if his mouth wasn’t full of thick cock. He hummed against Sorin, and the vampire squirmed. Back and forth, back and forth – Tibalt varied the pace from quick to agonizingly slow just to hear the handsome lord’s growls of frustration sound higher. Sorin dragged his claws on his inner thighs and whined, coming into Tibalt’s mouth. Tibalt let Lord Sorin’s legs drop like lead and spat what he could to the ground beside them. Wiping his mouth with a devilish smirk, he climbed on top of Sorin as he huffed. Tibalt summoned four sparks of what floating red mana he had left, knowing black shadows of swamp would have little effect on Sorin. He cast an enchantment of sorts, binding Sorin’s wrists and ankles. The vampire did not move or flinch, but inwardly he was more curious now. Was the half-blooded to torture him now? Bleed him to half-death and back? Or have more fun with their little rendezvous? Tibalt took Sorin’s prick in hand, stroking gently. Sorin groaned absently. Tibalt glided over the head of Sorin’s cock with his palm idly. He loved how the vampire shivered.

“No, stop that,” the vampire demanded breathlessly.

Tibalt ignored him, one hand squeezing and stroking; the other exploring Sorin’s bare chest. He leaned down, his mouth covering Sorin’s nipple, sucking. He stroked Sorin's cock faster, fondling the head just to hear Sorin make sweet, desperate sounds he tried so hard to stifle. Tibalt, the strange creature, was trailing kisses to Sorin’s naval, his tongue flicking here and there and his teeth nipping. A hand on his cock and another pinching his nipple, Sorin twisted, lifting his hips. Bound and helpless to the stimulations on his oversensitive body, he could no longer form a coherent sentence. Tibalt massaged the head of his prick and cupped a hand over Sorin’s mouth. The vampire bit him as hard as he could, but could not stop himself from crying pleas. He rode against Tibalt’s hand, his restrains taut as he writhed, rolling his hips This post-orgasm torture was breaking him.

Tibalt let go of his sensitive cock and expected the vampire to release his hand. Sorin breathed deeply, his eyes tightly shut, but slowly he laxed his jaw, allowing Tibalt to take back his bloodied hand. The devil pushed back wet hair from Sorin’s brow, only making it sticky with black devil-blood. He pressed the palm of his hand to Sorin’s lips and the vampire fed from the wound he made. Tibalt released the bonds and hummed.

“Now, that wasn’t _so_ terrible, was it?” He meant to mock Sorin but instead purred. The heat tickled the shell of Sorin’s ear. Despite the unsavory condition of the cell, the vampire thought he may have dozed off, for as soon as he blinked, Tibalt was gone. The room was smokier than before, perhaps a sorcery of sorts. He was no longer hot but covered in chilled, cold sweat. Sorin sat up, buttoned his trousers, and laced his coat, leaving his broken gear, daggers, and greatsword in the cell. Despite his regret for letting the devil go, he felt great amusement in knowing Tibalt’s boots were all what was left of his clothes for him to travel through the planes.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back when the Sorin vs Tibalt dual decks/stories came out. Hopefully, it's not as terrible as I think it is.  
> I think I remember getting the feeling that TIbalt isn't much of a "threat" to Sorin, more or less a nuisance on top of vampires going batshit in Innistrad. Sort of like a too-eager child bugging the hell out of an older, wiser adult who's just done with everything.


End file.
